


What They Cannot See

by LangdonSnareMD



Category: Black Friday - Team StarKid, StarKid Productions RPF, The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Premonition, References to Canon, References to Depression, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Supernatural Elements, implied/referenced suicidal ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:48:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23351209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LangdonSnareMD/pseuds/LangdonSnareMD
Summary: There are some that are connected to the black and white. While Hannah hears things from this void, Paul can see into different realities.Paul didn’t know what was going on.Sure, he’d always been an anxious man. Rather stay at home on his computer than go out to parties, or getting short of breath in close quarters, and picking at the skin around his knuckles when he felt uncomfortable. And maybe he felt a little depressed with his life, a sadness that gnawed away under his ribcage. But that was a chronic feature of his life.Nothing like this. Not seeing things.
Relationships: Alice & Bill (The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals), Alice/Deb (The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals), Bill & Paul Matthews, Charlotte/Ted (The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals), Paul Matthews & Emma Perkins, Paul Matthews/Emma Perkins
Comments: 45
Kudos: 142





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for:
> 
> \- Descriptions of violence, but it's blue shit, not blood  
> \- Presumption of mental health issues  
> \- Presumption of visual hallucinations  
> \- Anxiety, depresssion, and panic attacks mentioned  
> \- Flippancy of how someone remarks towards mental health conversations.
> 
> I like how Hannah is portrayed in Black Friday. They give the illusion that Webby could be a very strong imaginary friend or auditory things that she hears, and in a way Ethan gives a sense that he thinks she "may not be right", but it gives the positive support as well.
> 
> This is better settled in the next chapter. As someone with mental health illnesses and who works in the mental health field, I hope to create a full circle of multiple perspectives of viewpoints on mental health and how it can affect those afflicted poorly. Mental health in any form is a serious matter that should be taken seriously. This fiction is fiction.
> 
> Hope it's okay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will have trigger tags in the beginning.

Paul didn’t know what was going on.

Sure, he’d always been an anxious man. Rather stay at home on his computer than go out to parties, or getting short of breath in close quarters, and picking at the skin around his knuckles when he felt uncomfortable. His social aptitude was fairly low, having a stutter and never having the right words lined up in his mouth. And maybe he felt a little depressed with his life, a sadness that gnawed away under his rib cage… But that was a chronic feature of his life.

Nothing like this. Not seeing things.

\---

It started about 8 months after he finally asked Emma out on their first date. Or more pushed into it after Ted left his number of a coffee sleeve and bolted before Paul could even pull money out to pay for the order. Emma received it well, laughed and agreed to meet at the café on 42nd street that weekend for some decent coffee. Paul only stuttered twice through the whole interaction. Ted’s coffee ended up in the trash can.

Everything seemed to be going well since then. Their dates became weekly, including late nights at each other’s apartments. Each break was spent at Beanie’s counter. The dates then turned into something more that Paul was too excited about to ask about the formal title for, and his life seemed to be on the rise. 

The night before, Emma had stayed at his apartment, using the excuse that his place was closer to her job than her own. She didn’t need an excuse, but Paul let her anyways. He watched in the early morning as she puttered around before leaving for her shift, still pretending to be asleep. Once she was gone, he gave it another twenty minutes before beginning his own morning routine. That’s when he noticed it. In the basin of the sink after finishing his daily shave. Blue spots, almost florescent against the porcelain. Paul thought nothing of it, barely taking a second to study it before splashing some water towards it. The water was clear going down the drain. 

It was just a blip in his day until he noticed it again, little ink marks on the back of his fingers. He frowned, he hated blue pens. No particular reason for it, but it kept his desk clean from any color other than red. The ink wiped clean from his skin from a simple swipe. Paul took a mental note that time. And again, he spotted some drops on the counter of Beanie’s. Day after day, just small flecks, barely noticeable across Mr. Davidson’s tie, on the collar of his work shirts. Paul did his best to ignore it until the bright blue liquid was leaking out from behind Ted’s lips during a water cooler conversation.

It startled him so badly that he almost dropped his coffee right onto the floor.

“Whoa man, fucking butterfingers over here, am I right?” Ted snickered, waving his hands trying to get others to look over towards them.

Paul knew it wasn’t there, probably. When he saw the substance that looked like blue ink in other instances it usually appeared and disappeared without much interference. Gone within the time it took for a second glance to confirm it was there. Never had it interacted so authentically with another human being, dribbling down his skin leaving a diluted trail. 

Once he regained a firm grasp on his coffee cup, Paul motioned towards his own chin. “Uh, you got—you got something on your face there, Ted.”

Still smirking, Ted swiped a hand across his face. The streak smeared across one side of his chin. Paul tapped his fingers against the coffee lid uneasily. He stopped listening to Ted’s narrative of his own affair, plastered on a smile and kept his eyes up at Ted’s own gaze, only daring a glance down to Ted’s hand to see that it was clean of any illuminated colors. Impossible with the soul patch of blue still stuck on his chin.

Paul didn’t remember where their conversation started, nor how he ended back up at his own desk. He kept to himself the rest of the day. Just sip his coffee, fix the printer, turn in his report, and stop staring at Ted, or any other instance of glowing blue spots. All other occurrences were minuscule, mostly forgettable compared to what he was on Ted. He hoped it would stay that way.

\---

The blue spots become somewhat routine in Paul’s life. Changing his contacts didn’t fix it, and when he made a comment to Emma after dinner one night, as he caught a glimpse of it in the sink as they cleaned off their dishes, she seemed to think it was a joke, waving him away after looking down into the drain. He gave her a half-hearted chuckle, but between the bottle of wine they shared during and after dinner, he didn't know if he needed to be more concerned.

Another time, after watching a movie on Emma's couch, he brought it up again. A hypothetical about something weird going on, "Or, or, y'know, if something was happening in the world that everyone else seemed to be completely ignoring and left it as normal."

"I'd say that they shouldn't be watching anymore horror movies." She said, reaching across him for the remote. "Maybe we'll skip the next It movie when it comes out."

"No, no, Emma. Not like that. Well, actually," he rubbed the back of his neck, craning it to one side, "I guess that is kind of what I mean. You think some people see things other people don't?"

"Because of a demonic clown?"

"What-no, I'm not actually talking about It. I mean in real life."

Emma furrowed her brows, studying him intently. He kept his cool as best as he could, pretending to be intently reading the summary of the next movie viewed on Netflix. If she reached out to take his hand, she'd notice how sweaty it was. But she didn't. "You're quite a fucking piece there Matthews. If you're trying to pull something over me I'm gonna kill you." His thumb picked at the nail on his index finger. "I guess I'd have to drop you to the Clydesdale psychiatric hospital over the river, since we don't have one here. Leave you there for them to sort out."

Paul's eyes widened. "Wait, no, I'm not talking about--"

"I know you’re not talking about you, you fucking ding dong. You’re not like those people.” She balked. “But let’s change genres. Maybe an It marathon wasn’t a good idea.”

He only nodded as something new was started. The conversation must not have stuck out to Emma, as she was already antagonizing the main character for their poor taste of music.

\---

Two weeks had passed since the incident with Ted and Paul has been able to keep his head down. It became the ordinary, his ordinary. Ignoring the blatant glowing marks that were in the sides of his vision. Slowly gaining control of his somewhat exaggerated expressions to create a strong poker face. His eyebrows barely rose when he spotted Charlotte’s homely cat sweater splattered across the stomach with blue ink. The kitten was saturated from neck to paws. Somehow it looked sad.

Charlotte only noticed his staring when Ted made a lewd comment at Paul’s expense. He stuttered out an excuse about how his grandmother had a cat the same type as the one on her sweater. He sounded ridiculous. Type of cat. He could feel his inner voice scoffing at him with a scathing reminder how Charlotte wore the exact same sweater weekly. But it worked, Charlotte smoothed the sweater, blue liquid darkening as it seeped further into the fabric. Spots towards the center looked to turn almost to a black, like it was trying to disappear. Her hands were impeccably clean after. Paul fiddled with his tie as she happily gave him the Etsy page she bought the sweater from. He took the scrap paper with a closed smile, knowing well it would wear to a pulp in his wallet before making leave for his coffee break.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Emma have been invited to Bill's. The ride there is quiet.

That Friday, Bill invited Paul and Emma to dinner with him and Alice. Bill loved to remind Paul how much Alice adored him during her younger years. Now that she was 18, she doesn’t ask about him anymore, but he’s still Uncle Paul when he visits the house. It wasn’t hard to consider him and Emma as peaceful mediators during the family’s tumultuous times either. Maybe a small distraction from the pointless arguing that happened during their infrequent family dinners.

Emma drove Paul’s Civic to Bill’s. She didn’t like being a passenger, not after what happened with Jane. Didn’t put that much trust in others with her life. One the rare occasions Emma spoke to him about her family, she mentioned that being a strong force in her decision to leave the country.

“Jane had her life figured out by the age of 14, and after that, none of her decisions mattered unless it coincided with that fucking three-ring.” She commented one night after some of Emma’s heavy-handed pours. Paul did not hold his liquor as well as his partner, even though he outweighed her two to one, but still, he sat intently, drinking in her words. “It sounded like she had her shit so well put together but by the time she got to her graduate levels Jane fucking hated pharmacology. Fucking loathed medicine, but it was the plan, so she finished the degree. Got a good job she hated, a husband who left her alone to go to back to war and our father’s closeted drinking problems.” Paul didn’t know how to respond then, besides sidling up against her, letting her rest her head against his shoulder.

After returning to Hatchetfield, Emma was determined not to end up like Jane, miserable and stagnant. And while Beanie’s toed the line of insufferable, her college career was moving forward. And she met Paul. Albeit he’s an awkward stick of a man, but he liked to laugh at her crappy jokes and spend time watching horror movies, and he looked at her, not at what she’s done. The man who had seemed to have just dozed off somehow in the 15 minutes of their 20-minute car ride. She let out a quiet scoff, seeing his head loll towards the passenger window ever so slowly.

Her fingers tapped against the steering wheel as she slowed to a stoplight. She chewed on her bottom lip trying to hide a stupid smile while she thought about how relaxed she felt to the thought of them switching seats.

\---

Fitful. That’s the word Paul would choose to describe his sleep in the past week or so.

Conversation wasn’t a major part of car rides for Emma, the hushed chatter of the radio covered the sounds of the road as she focused on driving, but usually he could at least stay awake. Maybe if he could just remember his dreams that seemed to startle him awake every few hours, he could get past the panic portion of whatever nightmare and ride it out like every other dream. 

The constant pinpricks reminding him that he’s seeing things probably doesn’t set a person up for strong rest either. The blue liquid was sporadic and nonsensical. He couldn’t find any pattern to its appearances. Stained into Emma’s boss’ fingertips but almost bruised into Mr. Davidson’s neck. The mystery of it all would be an intriguing one if he didn’t fear losing his sense of reality trying to replicate, or explain, or do anything, really, about it. A secret in himself would be the best way to avoid a complete snap of insanity.

He was awoken by a warm hand patting him on his cheek. Emma was almost radiant sitting next to him, though his bleary eyes couldn’t tell if it was just from the sun’s rays behind her or if he was just that much of a sap. There was a snarky smile across her face as she gave him a harder pat on the cheek. “Nap time’s over.” Paul, brain still clouded, could only nod as he tried for his seat belt. It garnered another tap on the face, looking up he saw her eyebrows furrow as she stared hard back at him. “You alright there?”

Paul cleared his throat in an attempt to really wake up. “Yeah, oh yeah.” Emma lowered her hands but still looked at him, unimpressed. “Guess I’m just tired. It’s Friday, y’know how it is.”

“Do you want to just head home? I’m sure Bill won’t mind if you’re not feeling up to it.”

“No, no, that’s not needed. It’s okay. It’ll be fun.” He said, getting out of the car and doing a stretch. “Bill said Alice really took a liking to you last time, she’s probably excited to see you again.”

Emma let out a laugh. “It’s probably because I told her that her girlfriend smoking isn’t as big a deal as her dad says it is. She said she only does it socially and that’s only if they want to. She doesn’t smoke with Alice, they’d rather hang. And I said that sounds like the right person to be around.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, okay, well that does sound better than what I’ve been hearing.”

“Parents, right? They either suck or helicopter around.” She shrugged, before ringing the doorbell. A beat passed before she bumped into him with a smile. “I also may have mentioned the pot farm thing off-handedly too.”

“Oh.” If his eyebrows weren’t high enough already, they were then. He chuckled, “Oh, okay. Okay, well Bill doesn’t need to know that part then. What he doesn’t know will make him less stressed.” They shared a quiet laugh before the door opened up with Alice standing behind it.

Alice gave them a bright smile as she pushed her dark hair behind her ears. She greeted each with a hug before stepping aside to let them enter. “Just to let you guys know,” The teen said in a hushed voice over her shoulder, “Deb is here for dinner too. I thought it would be a good time to have her meet my dad. In more of a group setting so it’d be less awkward. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” Emma said, giving Paul a sly smile. He nodded in agreement. “We’ll throw her some softballs to get on his good side.”

Alice beamed, mouthing thank you as they entered the living room. On the couch sat another teen, with short brown hair in a button up one size too big. She sat stiffly in her seat with her hands folded in her lap. Paul would laugh if she wasn’t so nervous, Deb reminded him of himself on a first date. Unsure at what point she would stop being introduced to a judge (or panel of judges in her case) that would critique her every movement. In hopes to make her relax, he went to shake her hand and introduce himself. She all but sprang off the couch to give a strong formal shake. It seemed to put her on a higher alert.

“Hello, I’m Debra. It’s nice to meet you.” She said, giving firm eye contact. To say the least, Paul wasn’t expecting that much dedication and only stuttered a few syllables back. Deb blanched for a second before Emma stepped in to save both of them.

“Hi Debra. I’m Emma, this is Paul.” She smiled, nudging Paul to stop shaking her hand. “Don’t worry, we’re on your side. He’s always this awkward on first encounters. But it’s so nice to meet you. Alice has said a lot of good things about you.” Emma smiled, fluidly moving the conversation away from whatever it was before. While Emma hated customer service, he always admired how intuitive she was with others. Deb’s shoulders fell a foot as she let out a sigh of relief. Alice stood next to her with a grin, bumping the other’s hand in assurance before returning to sit. The teens sat shoulder to shoulder and as Emma led them into a dialogue, they couldn’t help looking at each other after every sentence. 

Paul nodded along with the conversation for a bit before excusing himself to greet Bill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to get something out while I had it in mind. This may be just a small section of a larger chapter, but I don't really know what I'm doing at the moment. Just some filler that can maybe give way to the characters more?
> 
> A bit of fluff and filler here and there doesn't hurt though, right?
> 
> Actual plot movement should be coming soon though. Depending on the virus situation.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul chats with Bill before being faced with new sights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not edited, and written during my 6 days straight of third shift work at the hospital, so on little sleep as well. Sorry it's been taking a while. I am struck with block as the anxieties and frustrations of the current health situations are continuing to rise. I hope to get something out soon enough, though I am in a rut and could barely get through this chapter without wanting to put my fist through the wall.  
> Let me know if there's something you'd like to see, maybe? If you want, you don't have to.  
> I hope you enjoy it still!

WARNINGS:  
Descriptions of gore (and what is replacing blood)  
Someone having a panic attack  
If this may trigger you, proceed with cautions. 

\---  
\---  
\---

The father was in the kitchen reading the news on his phone while waiting for food to be done in the oven. Paul walked up next to him and gave him a nod. “Hiding?”

Bill looked up, from his phone, still leaning into the counter. “I know Alice is worried about how I see Deb but making you guys buffer for them is a new tactic.”

Paul smirked. “It’s okay.”

“I mean, she has been very respectful since she’s gotten here, but I just have to wonder if Deb is good for her. Do you know she will be 19 next month? That means she was held back a year.” He said with a lowered voice.

“That happens. Plenty of people repeat a year. Or maybe she went to DK.” Paul shrugged. “I think Alice thought it was safe because Emma gave her some approval about their relationship last time we had dinner. She wants you to like her and it looks like Deb is really trying to impress you.”

Bill gave pause, nodding. “Alice does seem happy. That’s what I wanted.”

Paul nodded in agreement, folding his hands to lean down against the counter with Bill. He opened his mouth to say something but stopped, catching sight of his hands. 

His right hand had a large blue blot across his middle knuckles, all but circling around the fingers. It looked to stain right through his skin, as if his pigment changed. Paul squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose with his left hand before opening them again to take another look. The fluorescent remained. Reflexively he started to clench and unclench his fist.

“You alright, Paul?” Bill asked. 

Paul turned towards him, “Yeah, I—” His stomach instantly dropped along with the breath in his throat that fell flat out over his lips, hairs on his neck stood perpendicular as he looked at Bill’s face.

It was weird, almost disorientating, seeing such gore. A familiar face torn to shreds, sliced, ripped open, almost hanging off of his face. Right side of his face caved in with whole sections of where the facial features would be completely disappeared, missing from the surrounding remains. Paul was no expert in medicine, but he did think that Bill’s skull, maybe even his muscle and brain, something he should be able to see at this point of injury were completely missing. Nothing but hues of blues and black in the gaping area that should be his upper teeth.

Of course, it wasn’t real. Inherently, Paul knew this. But the small part of his mind that was wording the truth was being out shouted by the panic sirens rushing through his ears. Sweat suddenly was pouring out of every pore of his body. His shirt stuck to his skin and created a unpleasant sting against the fire that boiled his blood underneath it’s surface. All the firing systems in his brain had stopped. His mouth was still open, so incredibly dry that it felt like he was choking.

“Paul, Paul, what’s wrong? You don’t look good.” Bill’s body straightened, his head moved, the peels of skin waved in the air like, like—

Air burned down Paul’s throat, “I’m going to throw up.” He thought it would be hard to force himself to move from the horror show in front of him, but his body moved faster than his mind. Soon enough, he was in Bill’s bathroom forcing everything out of his stomach into the toilet. He leaned on his forearms as his hands were too sweaty to grip the bowl. Or maybe it was because he couldn’t stop them from shaking. At this point he couldn’t focus on anything. The only grace he could actualize is that he didn’t see anything blue from his place inside porcelain bowl, but that didn’t stop the burning sensation within his chest from forcing anything resembling a breath out of his lungs. They ached against his ribs, calling out to his short-circuited brain that they’d pass out soon without air, maybe could even die.

What an odd, yet almost welcoming thought.

The rushing within his ears were dying down, a roaring white noise that he could almost feel against his temples was lifting away. His sweating stopped and an eerie cold settled into his blood. He tensed his hands to try to stop them from shaking.

“Paul?”

He knew that it was Emma’s voice he heard next to him, but he flinched to look in the opposite direction. More bile was rising in his throat. If Bill looked like his head was blown off, what has his brain concocted Emma to look like? A pop came from his jaw as he clenched his teeth tight around his bottom lip, hoping for his stomach to settle for one moment. Paul knew he couldn’t stay sitting in Bill’s bathroom like a drunkard forever. But his mind was still in flight, thinking if it was time to just blind Paul to get away from the freakish sights it conjured.

“Paul, okay. Paul? Hey, can you hear me? Paul, I’m going to touch your arm now.”

Honestly, he couldn’t tell if she did or not, his skin felt like it was buzzing all over. Static from a TV. Eventually he could feel the small circles that were being rubbed into his back. It felt nice, though the intermediate alarms of panic in his mind made him gag again.

“Are you okay? Can you look at me?” His chest began to tighten again and his breathes began to quicken. If he had the wherewithal, he’d probably be ashamed he can’t even think about giving someone eye contact.

“You’d thought he saw a ghost.” Bill muttered from somewhere behind. The image of a dripping flesh reemerges from the darkness behind Paul’s eyes and he let out a groan. His jaw ached as he dry heaved again at the thought.

“Hey, could you grab us a glass of water, he’s still pretty pale.” Emma asked presumably to Bill, who shuffled away. Another hand rested on his shoulder.

“Paul, I need you to sit up more and take deep breaths.” She pat his back a few times in encouragement. In one swift move he straightened up, sucking in air through gritted teeth. Foul, acidic mucous re-coated his tongue. The next few breaths were more controlled, in through the nose, out through the mouth. He let his eyes untense but didn’t open them.

Something cold was pushed into one of his hands. “Drink this.” Gladly, he rinsed out his mouth before taking small sips of the water. Just as quickly, the glass was gone, replaced with a gentle hand. Emma leaned in close to him, speaking low. “I’m going out on a limb since you’re staying silent and guessing this wasn’t a sudden bout of food poisoning. You okay to stand?”

He gave a small nod before trying to get to his feet. The panic from before seemed to be tamped as Emma assisted him. Only tenderness and reassurance as he was having what he could only associate as a panic attack in front of company. Without the panic, embarrassment crept into its place. Paul let out a whine as he scrubbed his hands across his face, daring to crack an eyelid open to look at Emma.

There she was. Just Emma. Dark hair falling just to her shoulders. Same, small nose. Both eyes and eyebrows, which were furrowed into themselves. Two round, fully intact cheeks that helped to pronounce the frown she wore. Though small, her presence was large, comforting. The look she gave him was too soft, too innocent compared to everything he’s been seeing for the past months, since looking at Bill’s gored face. It’s almost laughable. A chuckle even escaped past his hands but he coughed to cover it. Soon enough both eyes were focused on the woman next to him as he dropped his hands to fiddle at the bottom of his button down.

Emma continued her gaze, eyes probing his own. He recognized the look. She wanted him to say something, anything to give her a clue of where he was. That he’s not going to bolt as soon as she steps back. Paul knew he owed it to her, he couldn’t let the worry continue to strain her face. His brain racked for something sensible that he could say, but there was nothing but a fog rolling across any semblance of a coherent sentence.

Her eyes did not waver.

“Uh, hello.” _Really?_ “Sorry.”

She snorted. “You’re sorry? Paul you did nothing wrong. Except maybe give Deb fucking palpitations. It’s all good, okay?”

“Okay.”

“We should probably head out, yeah?”

“Yeah.” He nodded.

The agreement was made, and Emma walked out of the bathroom. But Paul could barely get himself to step close to the doorframe. She was out in the kitchen, talking to Bill in a quiet voice before noticing he hadn’t followed her. She reappeared; one brow arched high as she motioned him to leave.

Another nod, but Paul still didn’t move. He gave her a thin smile. “Okay.” He said taking a step to the doorway. “Okay.” He leaned forward to look out into the kitchen. The three remaining guests were huddled in the dining area, talking in hushed tones. Bill faced away, back hunched over to speak to the teenagers. Deb did a double take as she caught sight of Paul and gave a timid smile. Retreating back into the bathroom, Paul gulped, looking back at Emma. “Okay.”

Ever patient was the woman in front of him gazing at him like a kicked puppy. Was it pity? Empathy? Or maybe that’s what love truly looks like. She rubbed a hand down his arm and signaled him to wait before disappearing again. So he stood, twisting his hands between each other as he hid in a bathroom. His mind felt no need to recuperate before reminding him what an embarrassment he was being. Shame he can’t even face his closest friend and goddaughter to give reassurance. Something that it would probably remind him of late at night in a few years just to play games with him. 

Before Paul could crawl into the cabinet under the sink where he would hide for the rest of the foreseeable future, Emma reemerged, taking his hand and leading him out the opposite way of the kitchen and without stopping straight into Bill’s garage. Closing the door first made all the harder for Emma to find the garage door opener. “Where in the fucking duck is that button, fuck.” She muttered, running her hands along the wall.

The complete darkness coupled with Emma’s mutterings was oddly calming. Her sense of normalcy was comforting, almost as if the last hour didn’t happen.

Almost.

A click and the garage door began to rise. “Boom, bitch.” She snapped some finger guns in his direction. “Let’s fucking jet.”

Paul smiled softly before looking down at his socked feet. “I don’t have—”

“Shoes.” She presented, setting them at his feet. Another wave of shame passed as he bent down to put them on. A kid who can’t even remember his shoes.

“Sorry.”

“For what? Having a panic attack? At least that’s what I’m assuming happened.” She trailed as they got to the car. “It’s nothing to be sorry for. It happens. Weird things set our brains off sometimes. Nothing you can do to stop it, so don’t feel bad. I want you to feel safe.” Paul leaned back into the passenger seat, head resting towards Emma. The car ignition rattled before she looked over to him. “I don’t want you to hide these kinds of things. Because it can fuck you up, dude. I know. It really messes with your brain and gets more fucked up if you just box it up.” She glanced down and reversed the car. “We don’t need to talk about it now, but I do think you should at some point. Just to feel like you’re not being cornered by whatever that was.”

“I—I don’t know if it’ll make sense.” Paul muttered.

“There’s not really any shit that does make sense. But we can at least be in the same corner when the world tries to fuck us up.”

Paul sat, contemplating the words. He’d like to not hide this anymore, but it wasn’t just normal paranoia. Not the social anxieties or bouts of sadness that sometimes spikes in his life. Wasn’t the fear or guilt of losing family. This was something along complete insanity. And it scared him to think he’d scare the one person who he would like in his corner away.

But the utter warmth of her words, the lack of judgement from the scene she had already witnessed seemed heartening, welcoming towards the thought of coming clean about his visions. But later, he exerted everything he had in him at Bill’s, and emotionally he wouldn’t be able to make it out of the car if he started now. He gave a lopsided smile towards her and rested a hand on her thigh, hoping to construe this message with the simple gesture. The glance was quick, but he recognized the empathy this time as she gave him a warm smile back.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma reminds herself what it took to get where she was now and give the support that Paul needs.

The next day Emma felt time dragging during her shift at Beanie’s. Last night, she could tell Paul didn’t sleep well as he tossed and turned all night. Surprisingly he had called for work that day as well, though when Emma offered to call in as well, he declined the company. One of the things she liked best about her and Paul was that they complimented each other nicely. She could interpret his words when they couldn’t escape his throat and was able to get him to express himself in ways, he was too afraid to publicly before meeting her. And he knew when and when not to try to press through her barriers and could withstand her rude attitudes. They let each other be themselves without judgement and no remorse to being who they are. But now she didn’t know if they both made the right decision. She was worried bringing up that him being alone may be troublesome, that he may break completely.

Emotional vulnerability was not one of Emma’s strong points. It wasn’t the words or descriptions that made her nervous, but the feeling inside her chest that would begin to open and threatened to tear her apart.

She could remember the last time she saw Jane face to face as a specific moment that feeling almost broke her. Right before her flight to Guatemala. Her sister openly cried, begging for her not to leave, to at least give her a reason she so desperately wanted away from her and her family. With each quivered word a spike was driven into the center of her chest, a dagger that dug open a hole of ice and tension that she couldn’t properly describe.

It didn’t start like that. When she first felt it, while watching her parents argue at night, threatening divorce and sloshing adult beverages across the carpet, it was merely a pin pricking against her skin. It grew every time her mother praised Jane for her schoolwork while Emma walked home from school. Eventually it grew enough, punctured into her lungs that it became obvious to others and was given flack for not appreciating what she already had in life. At least that’s what her father said was the problem. She learned to fake through it, to hide the grimace of discomfort or crinkle of her brow from others when graduation quickly approached, and no plans made. The blade made every breath short and painful as from the beginning of school to when she laid awake in bed, terrified of what the future would throw if being a child was already this discouraging.

Nothing could un-stick that knife. Distractions and ignoring it only worked until turning into another situation that plunged it deeper. The 14 hours it took Emma to make the decision to leave Michigan was the only decision she had made in her 18 years of life that didn’t feel pointless. The only one not tethered to the knife between her ribs.

The escape was cathartic at first, the further she was from Hatchetfield, the more the wound scabbed over. She wandered around Central America, searching for reason, any reason that could give her purpose and make her a person.

It wasn’t until Jane’s death that she realized that though scarred over, the knife was still embedded. Each postcard reopened it to the toxic environment she created. The feelings of hopelessness, helplessness, of pointlessness made her question the very fabric of her decision, because was there any reason to run? Jane’s death only confirmed the error she made boarding that plane. An infection festered underneath her ribs that burst to the surface, creating such a gaping wound that her first days back in Michigan were spent sobbing until her throat was raw.

Eventually it all catches up.

After days without leaving the hotel she rented, she eventually realized that to free herself of this feeling, the guilt, she would have to remove it herself.  
Maybe that’s why Jane followed her to the airport that day, to help pull it out instead of letting it bore through until Emma pulled it from back, blade first. But she learned that she couldn’t live regretting her past. Her sister still taught her something before she left. Reason didn’t have to be her own, she lived to remember her sister and to be a good one, even when she wasn’t around.

She still fell back into old habits, holds everything in until bursting at the seams, alone in her apartment while searching for flights to South America or South Asia, but she has been learning. Coping mechanisms, as they called it in her general psychology course. To work out intense emotions in positive ways to decrease destructive behaviors. Emma felt stupid the first time she tried it. She though she looked like an idiot sticking her hands into the depths of the ice maker at Beanie’s or quietly counting to 10 like a child. 

It wasn’t until Professor Hidgens finally let her into his house after dropping off the fourth round of groceries, making uncomfortable conversation that led to understanding amongst company can relive the pressure like no other thoughts could. She noticed the dark rings under his eyes and heaviness in his shoulders that it was all too familiar. After some off-handed comments that sounded like her thoughts she tried to bury did she blurt out that she was trying things that helped, and maybe would help him too. The words left her mouth and almost instantly she felt the burning embarrassment from admitting to someone, who she could only describe as an acquaintance, her unsound thoughts. At first, all the professor could do is stare, mouth open, but the conversation that happened after felt like a release of tension she hadn’t felt since her first departure from Hatchetfield. The empathy he gave made her forget that it was their first meeting outside of class. The reassurance finally made her feel like all this work was actually worth it.

That’s when she started to see a change. The bile would settle in her stomach while being in vehicles. The urge to flee would pass and thoughts of futility would be quieted by rational thoughts. The hole in her chest changed from agonizing pain to only passing throbs. A new feeling of intention started to overcast the worthlessness. The dagger shrunk to pins, needles piercing just as deep as before but didn’t overwhelm so badly that she would lie in bed for hours waiting for it to pass.

Which was what worried her about leaving Paul to his own thoughts after what seemed like his first panic attack. She knew how hard it was being alone with your thoughts in the beginning, how fogged everything could be after the explosion. They haven’t reached a year of seeing each other more than at Beanie’s but Emma knew that he meant more than she could describe to her and it would gut her to see something bad happen because of this. Paul entering her life only enhanced her own recovery. Letting her open up towards him in ways she wished she could have with Jane. Though she sat through nights of drunken, sobbing confessions and mornings of unintelligible reasons for her foul or nonexistent emotions, the solace he provided mended wounds she desperately tried to forget. She likes to think if Jane was still here, she would be impressed with her choice in a confidant.

He had always been there for her; it was about time to prove that she cared just as much about him as he did for her.

As soon as her shift ended, she rushed to return to his apartment. It was quiet when she opened the door, though the sun was low and would be blindingly orange through the windows, she noted all the shades were still drawn. The lights were out, and it was quiet. She took off her shoes and went around checking for Paul, padding around anxiously until she found him asleep on top of the covers in bed. 

He was still dressed in the clothes he slept in last night. She called his name quietly but he barely rustled. Emma knew how important sleep was and how tired Paul was the days prior that she let him sleep and decided to let him sleep. She took a shower, got some food, and did some homework in the kitchen and he never appeared out of the bedroom. Eventually Emma joined him, quietly getting in on the other side after throwing a blanket from the living room on top of him. Paul hadn’t moved much from where she found him earlier, but he was still breathing and had a solid 5 hours of sleep since she got home under his belt. She laid, staring at his back, watching his shoulders rise and fall and as she drifted into sleep hoped she had learned enough in the last year to give him peace of mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the wait. Hope you like it and you all are staying healthy!  
> Probably one or two more chapters after this one.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul never liked surprises. He like routine, sameness. The most adventure that he’s had in the last year, besides dating the firecracker that is Emma Perkins, was the week CCRP spent changing to new, updated printers and trying to pair them correctly with the right computers, and that was back in spring.
> 
> While he’s never been a stranger to anxiety he’s never had to skirt around triggers like moving on thin ice, ready to crack and drop him without notice. Panic attacks weren’t unusual, though he admits that what had happened the day prior was not it’s usual appearance. But the act of it all, coupled with the hallucinations, was starting to wear him down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings:  
> \- Self injurious behaviors  
> \- Compulsions  
> \- Depictions of gore/blood  
> \- Lots of anxiety, self-doubt  
> \- Reference to depression/suicidal ideation

Paul never liked surprises. He like routine, sameness. The most adventure that he’s had in the last year, besides dating the firecracker that is Emma Perkins, was the week CCRP spent changing to new, updated printers and trying to pair them correctly with the right computers, and that was back in spring. 

Only know he noticed how frequently he was breaking his scheduled rituals. 

He took short cuts to work to avoid passing streets where bins dripped blue. The usual visits to Beanie’s decreased as he swore the coffee looked tinted, instead treating Emma to some better coffee, like Starbucks. The nighttime routines slowly dissolved as he focused on washing thoroughly to rid himself of the dye that appeared on his arms and face to quell his anxiety.

While he’s never been a stranger to anxiety he’s never had to skirt around triggers like moving on thin ice, ready to crack and drop him without notice. Panic attacks weren’t unusual, though he admits that what had happened the day prior was not it’s usual appearance. But the act of it all, coupled with the hallucinations, was starting to wear him down.

Thankfully Emma didn’t press too hard, too aware how frazzled he seemed. He wished with how haggard he felt, he could have gotten some sleep but that didn’t happen either. The sparse views he had into his dreams were blue too, or the sight of Bill swam behind his eyelids to shock him back to lucidity. Once the morning was late enough, he called into work. He doubted he could be useful as is. He was too close to a ticking time bomb to be surrounded by colleagues, most of whom he could barely stand on normal days. Once Emma reluctantly left for Beanie’s, Paul gave it a good ol’ college try to at least do his morning routine before sitting around to freak out some more.

It almost happened, he didn’t eat and got dressed into the same clothes he slept in but he showered three times so that covered the timing gaps. Maybe if he’d stop finding blue marks flecked against his collarbones then he could have skipped the third shower. Maybe if he'd _focus_ he could control this. 

Now it only appeared, with frightening frequency, splattered across his palms, almost covering them entirely. Washing his hands seemed to do the trick, normally, but with every few glances it’d come back. In between his pacing across the apartment he’d have to stop and wash his hands to slow down his heart rate.

Paul had done 62 laps and had washed his hands 14 times by 2pm. His hands were at the point of being raw. There were cracks formed around his knuckles that glowed red when his hands would begin to dry. The constant ringing he does as he walks the apartment doesn’t help either. Palms beat red, yet when ink returns the hue rarely impaired. _Pathetic._

After another 7 laps, Paul stopped in his room, falling to the edge of his bed, rubbing his dry hands up his face and through his hair. He stretched out on top of the covers. His anxiety was high, for obvious reasons, yet there was something different he felt from the day before. A feeling of impending doom as quietly grown in his stomach. An uneasy anticipating pulsing into a headache. He closed his eyes, trying to help it pass and focus on rational thinking to ease the doom and disaster feeling. What was rational at this point was debatable, but there were some small facts that made sense. He was still Paul, the Paul that embarrassed his goddaughter well before he threw up in their bathroom and that didn’t kill him. The one that fell off someone’s skateboard on peer pressured dare and broke his wrist and that also didn’t kill him. He didn’t even die when Ted made him ask Emma out. So certainly he could push through this, right?

The concentration helped him settle, tension starting to release from his legs and relaxed up to his shoulders. Sun streamed in through the blinds just right to hit him in the eyes but he didn’t care. Restless nights had caught up and Paul fell into a dreamless sleep.

\---

Sometimes you woke up and forgot what day it is, when Paul woke up he didn’t know which year it was. Was he in college waking up from his first sleep after an all-nighter? Did he go to Disney World with his family at spring break? 

He blinked a few times and sat up as he racked his brain for his own age. A blanket fell off his chest. Did he put that there? Next to him, another body shifted away from his movements. It was dark, but when he saw the small form sprawled on her stomach next to him, he knew what was going on. Emma had rolled onto her side away from him mumbling a bit before settling again. Paul checked the alarm clock at the bedside. Almost 2am. He had crashed for almost 10 straight hours. He hummed, his body did an auto shutdown, and he felt better than before, at least more rested than before, but there was only one way to see if sleep worked.

Slowly Paul climbed out of bed, trying hard to not wake Emma. He padded into the bathroom, taking a deep breath before turning the lights on. The overhead bulbs blinded him. When he cracked open he looked straight down at his hands and saw no sign of blue. His eyebrows rose, somewhat surprised, he almost let himself smile before he saw the streaks slashed across his face. 

_There is no escaping this nightmare._

A lump formed in his throat as he felt pressure building behind his eyes. He lips pursed to stop himself from crying out in frustration. It wasn’t anxiety but exhaustion that filled his lungs as he stared at himself. Long lines whipped cross his face, touching the bottom of his eyes down to his chin. A frown curved the ink, almost seeming to spread it into the creases. He touched the lines gently, barely noticing his chapped fingers and knuckles. When pulling his hands back noticed that they transferred into his fingerprints.

That’d never happened before.

Paul started the sink and lathered a large amount of soap in his hands and scrubbed at his face. The stinging in his eyes was minimal compared to the weight resting in his stomach. He leaned against the sink, letting the running water drench his hair. Only the cold faucet was on icing the headache forming in the center of his skull. He felt defeated, tired even though he slept well. Like fighting against a current, he felt maybe it was time to just accept what his mind has created and live with the fist clenching his heart.

He checked the mirror. No more blue. The breath that escaped him felt as if it was taking his soul out too. He was no longer the man he was before. Paul toweled the water from his head and hands, taking only a small note how his hands burned before turning off the bathroom lights. There was a part of him that thought about starting to pace again, but even standing there in the doorway to his room he felt like a dead weight, a body that wasn’t his with a face that only looked like him. It’d only stress him more and had a chance to wake Emma, so he decided to try thinking about facts again to distract. 

Distract himself until he can let Emma know it’s okay to leave and he’ll lock himself in his apartment for the rest of his life.

As quietly as he could, Paul crept back to the bed. Even with his eyes more adjusted to the dark, he could barely see the lump that was Emma, she had all but disappeared under the duvet, head tucked under her pillow. He pulled back the covers to crawl in bed but saw a dark color in his light beige sheets. It had no particular shine but definitely wasn’t the electric blue that he’d been finding. No, this seemed to be void of color in the dark. Pulling the covers back more he could see how the color transferred to the top sheets. It clung to the linen as if it was still wet, almost sopping. 

He turned to the side table and grabbed his phone, fumbling to turn on and cover the light to not blind the whole room. A small stream from the LED lit a rectangle on the ceiling. Paul flipped it to the covers and bent down to take a closer look to find a puddle of dark red slowly seeping into the mattress. His heart began to race, slowly growing louder into his head as he continued to search for the source. Stomach twisting and weighed with dread. The hairs on his forearm rose, he felt his teeth would be chattered if he wasn’t clenching his jaw so hard. It didn’t register at first, the liquid looked opaque and pulled across the fabrics at where the sheets met, until it met with Emma’s body, particularly at her thigh where a gaping hole maimed through the center back of her thigh as blood oozed out.

Paul didn’t really mind blood, he never fainted at the sight, but this wasn’t a cut. It was mutilated.

_Emma?_

He opened his mouth, but his voice caught in the cotton that had filled his mouth. The blood, _so much blood_ , looked surreal compared to the blue dye. Much more real than Bill’s missing face. There was skin pulled back and looked bruised, muscle torn from bone that pressed its way out of the hole. The hole, that was continuing to spill out blood at an alarming pace. The panic rose just as fast.

 _Think later, act now._ Paul dropped the phone from his shaking hands and let them hover over the wound. He couldn’t breathe. The impending doom was back full fold, trying to cave in his chest. It felt like his heart was pounding in reverse, breaking his sternum in two. The burning in his hands only doubled as he pressed them against the wound. The blood seeped between his fingers. He pressed harder, trying to stem the flow. Tears were streaming freely down his face, as he began choking on air. He cried for Emma, cried for her life that he was letting slip between his fingers.

His arms had gone numb, detached from himself like he was watching someone else’s attempt at first aid. The tears blurred the shining gore that crept up his wrists. Couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t feel, he had imploded into himself. His body was vibrating.

“Paul, get the fuck off me.” His hands were being pushed away, pried off and the blood flowed freely.

He gawked, his vocal chords finally working. “No, wait.” He fought but couldn’t tell if he was succeeding. There was talking again but his hearing spotty, he was all but blubbering, completely lost to the terror coursing through his soul. He had to do something, he could be useful. “Please, wait.” The laceration was removed from his blurry vision. “Wait, please. I can save her. I can—”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Paul was jolted back into his body, crashing into all of his senses at once. There was a strong grasp on his shoulders, biting into the nerve. He was ready to scream, to cry and yell and argue with whoever held him, but it caught in his throat as he looked up at Emma. A very not dying from blood loss, healthy looking Emma who had a locked arm grip onto Paul. Suddenly, Paul’s mind cleared. “Emma.”

Her eyes glowed from the phone light that was forgotten somewhere on the bed, brows furrowed with a frantic, petrified, gaping look. She was eye level with him, sitting on her knees. Paul shot a glance at her legs. She wore shorts that stopped high on her thigh that had smooth skin stretched across it. Olive tan skin without a bruise to be seen. He stared down at his hands, red, but not from blood. Only covered in sweat and the dying panic seeping out of his fingertips. He was but a useless body flailing just under the surface. The grip was tightening on his shoulders as he was shaken again.

“Paul. Focus.” Her voice was hard, commanding him back to reality. He snapped back to attention, dropping his hands after swiping them across his still dripping eyes. “What the ever-loving fuck was that?”

If he wasn’t already filled with dread, this was the time to fill up. Out loud he was stammering, starting syllables over and over. He brought both hands up to press against his eyes to create a semblance of a thought. His hands were pulled away from his face. Paul watched as she cradled them in her own, she stared down at them for a moment before leaning over to turn on the lamp and lighting the room better, she looked back down at his hands. He did the same, looking at the red, angry cracks that wrapped the base of his fingers, knuckles pocked with small cuts. That dried blood looked real. What a waste to shed blood over nothing at all. 

“What is going on?” She barely spoke above a whisper. “I woke up with you on top of me and it scared the shit out of me, but then you started yelling and crying and fighting.”

Paul could only stare at his hands, too ashamed to look at her. ‘I, uh…Okay.” He dared to look back up at her, brown eyes staring into his own. “Okay.” He blinked hard, pressing the last of the water out of his eyes. “Okay. Emma. There’s something wrong with me.” She didn’t reply. “T-there’s—I’m.” He was flustered, deep breath. “The past, like, two weeks. Somethings been going on with my vision. I’ve been seeing things.”

“Seeing things?” She repeated slowly. It sounded derisive. 

_You would too._

“Yeah. Very specific things. Colors, and, and I know how it sounds, but, it was just blue ink, stains at first. And it wasn’t much, wasn’t intrusive but then yesterday at Bill’s he, his.” Paul didn’t know how to explain it. “His face was gored. It was gone but there was no blood, it was like his blood was blue. And his bones. And then he started talking but there was nothing to talk with.

“And y’know, I-I know it sounds fucking crazy. That this, just, color, this substance, just started to appear everywhere and it was never like, wet or had any type of feeling. I couldn’t feel anything when I washed it off my hands and no one seemed to notice when it was smeared across their clothes. But I realize it’s implications when I came back to bed and there was blood everywhere.” His voice warbled. “It looked very real and it wasn’t artificial blue and the wound in your leg looked real and I couldn’t really think straight but when I put my hands on it to try and do something it pooled through my fingers like it was real and I just lost it.” His ramblings trailed away, and he shrugged. The wince was involuntary as he heard Emma let out a loud breath. 

“Paul, I—” At some point she had dropped both their hands in between them. He couldn’t read the look on her face, her mouth still open. Her eyes scanned across his face, searching for something. Paul did the same, the slight downward turn of her lips, her dark brown eyes squinting ever so slightly as they moved, the flush of her round cheeks. She didn’t know how to respond. Was she waiting for him to snap again? Waiting for a break to best exit? Maybe she was waiting for him to apologize. The silence somehow rang in his ears as the tension within him began to rise again. 

“I’m sorry I scared you. I’m scaring you. It’s alright if it’s too much. He said, pulling his hands back into his own lap. “That’s why I never said anything, because…Because look what a mess it is.” There was a small, ironic smile, trying to force it’s way out over his pursed lips. It wasn’t appropriate, he bit down on his bottom lip to make himself stop. “I think, I’m uh…I’m going to go to the bathroom for a moment, get some cold water.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe, maybe give you a moment so you can get your things.”

She watched as he pushed himself off the bed. The adrenaline rushed down and out of his body, making a bit unsteady on his feet.

“Paul, sit down.” Emma stated. There was no hesitancy in her voice. Paul did as commanded, sitting off the edge of the bed. She readjusted to face him better, tucking her hands between her thighs as she let out a sigh. “I have no idea what the fuck to say, I won’t lie to you.” She started in utter calmness. Sadness was welling up Paul’s throat. He dropped his head into his hands.

“P-please, just know that I’m very sorry.” There’s another catch in his throat. “I promise this wasn’t happening the whole time we were together, it’s not a life secret. I wouldn’t—wouldn’t never put you through that. I don’t blame you for hating me.”

“Why would I hate you?”

He dropped his so he could count on his fingers. “I’ve lied to you, terrified you, borderline attacked you, embarrassed you— I feel like I’m in a living nightmare and now you’re being dragged into it.” He scoffed, rubbing his raw hands against his brow bones. “Emma this is not normal. I’m not normal. But you don’t have to deal with that too.”

Another moment of silence. Paul knew this was it. There was nothing left for him to say, he was now an open book that’s shitty ending was coming to a close. After Emma left, he needn’t worry about burdening anyone else with his hallucinations. He’d quit CCRP and maybe move away. Or maybe he should just lock himself in here and let the visions consume him. What use is he when he could barely function at his own home?

The bed creaked as weight shifted towards the edge, but it didn’t release. As he gripped the roots of his hair, small, but solid arms wrapped around his hands. They were warm and didn’t shake like his own. They unraveled his fingers from their vice and set them down to his knees. Her fingers brushed lightly against the back of his scaling hands and stayed there longer than he expected. Paul looked up at the woman only inches away from him.

“You’re not a burden.” She said quietly, giving to his eyes. “This whole thing, this is fucking wild, and something I’ve never experienced before in my life. But that doesn’t mean a problem. It wouldn’t make me hate you.”

“You don’t have to feel guilty.”

“Are you on drugs?” She deadpanned.

Paul took a second to process the question. “N-no. No I barely drink. You’ve seen me at bars. I can barely handle a shot, let alone any stronger substance. The one time I took a smoke of marijuana I couldn’t move for an hour because I thought I died.”

“Then you can’t feel guilty either. You didn’t do this to yourself on purpose.” She declared. “And I get why you’re saying that. Because you feel like a problem curse that shouldn’t be around but that’s something I do understand.” Emma let go of his hands and leaned in closer, wrapping her arms around his chest. “You may feel like you’re living in hell but pushing everyone out makes it so much worse. It’s not a problem to let someone help you.” Her head rested on his shoulder. She could feel the way his breath began to hitch as he tried to say something. “I know you think you’re not worth it, and more so now, but please, let me help you.”

Paul’s mouth clamped shut to keep back a sob. His whole body was shaking again, fat tears rolling down his face. “Emma…Oh god.” He looked to his hands, still raw, burning and peeling like a new blister. “I’m scared.”

She held fast, tightening her grasp on his body, pressing firmly into him to help keep him grounded. “That’s okay.” Emotions were trying to pour out of her as well, but she held strong, stamping them down for just a while longer. There would be a time for them to heal together, but right now, Paul needed her. “It’s okay. We can figure this out. Okay?”

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. Sorry for the wait. This was hard to write but not because of the content.  
> I like to think John has a bit of compulsive tendencies.  
> If it sounds like I'm projecting don't at me.
> 
> I did not edit. Hope it's alright.  
> I think there'll be an epilogue and that'll be it.
> 
> Hope everyone is staying safe and healthy. Thank you for taking your time to read.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue

It wasn’t an easy journey. Surprises continued without warning, like the scars that wrapped around his body or the hole in the back of Ted’s head. Always tinged or completely saturated in a vibrant blue hue. Only Emma ever bled true; and while it happened less often, it never stopped Paul from panicking when he saw it freely flowing down her leg.

He learned the wounds never changed. Sometimes, Bill was just missing his whole face. Other times, Charlotte and Ted looked like they just got out of a paintball tournament. Even the patterns splashed across Mr. Davidson’s tie were exactly the same day to day.

Paul found ways to cope, without puking his guts out or having a complete breakdown. He used some methods Emma had described to him, like naming things he could grab or listing items in detail. When they were out together, she’d help distract so he could get his bearings back. Emma would hold his hand, tapping out an unknown rhythm on the back of his hands to give him something to focus on.

Emma had been his only constant. Prepared and levelheaded. Even when she found him shouting in his (their) bathroom the first time he saw his whole upper body covered in ink, seeping into what looked like fresh burns wrapping around his forearms, holes bore into his chest and neck, like he’d been next to an explosion.   
Just like when he found her bleeding, he was lost within himself, but she held her warm hands on his ravaged wrists and made him realize that there was no pain nor heat radiating from any of the wounds. She helped distract him until he looked back and found his pale flesh was clean of all blemishes.

Through the whole endeavor, Emma was there reminding him of reality. During his clarity, Emma could still enjoy the Paul she met back at Beanie’s the year before. The awkward mess that tripped over himself on their first date when trying to open the door for her. The one that could banter, take hits and deal them back. But there wasn’t really an old or new Paul. Just one still discovering himself. 

Emma notices new things every day, like the glint he gets in his eyes whenever he catches her staring at him. How he rolls his eyes with a warm smile when she tries to call him out on it. A new habit of his was all the verbal kindness. Words were never a strong suit but now he gives affirmations, compliments, sweet nothings whenever he can.

His laughs sounded more genuine, concern more worried. Like a valve was released and flooded his emotional cortex.

Emma wasn’t complaining, far from it, she was glad he could be so present, so optimistic with everything going on.

They still had bad days; they bickered, fought, work sucked, Jane’s death turned to a year. Waves rocked as much as Lake Superior itself, towering and collapsing anew each hour.

And as they walked across the shore of Hatchetfield’s outer lines, fingers entwined and bare soles cutting into the sand, Paul and Emma knew that everything would turn out alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope it was a fun ride. This was originally a 1000 word fic and look where we've gone.  
> Stay safe and healthy


End file.
